


Sevenfold

by AnnaofAza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Canon-Typical Violence, Claire Novak Has Been Through Hell and Highwater and Deserves Better, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Mark of Cain, POV Claire Novak, Past Violence, Post-Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, Revenge, Sort of Season 10 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You'll kill him?" she repeats. "You promised him that? It's what he wants?"</p><p>Castiel's hands tighten on the wheel. "It's what he wants."</p><p>"Good," Claire wants to laugh, but instead, a hysterical little gasp escapes her instead. "Good."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sevenfold

**Author's Note:**

> And Cain said to the Lord, 'My punishment is greater than I can bear.'
> 
> Click the end notes for potential triggers and warnings. (SPOILERS)

Castiel takes her back to the bunker, screaming and sobbing, in his gold pimp car. Under other circumstances, Claire would have laughed, shook her head, and made a joke, but now, she can only curl up in the backseat and cry her heart out. She doesn't want any part of what used to be her father near her, doesn't want to hear the useless reassurances that Castiel tries through his too-rough, too-sympathetic voice.  
  
"...Claire, please listen, it wasn't—"  
  
"I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear it," Claire chants, hands over her ears like she used to do when she was five: _I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you_. "I just...I just...oh my God. Oh my God. Randy's dead. Randy's dead." Her voice is muffled between her knees. "Oh my God."  
  
"Randy—"  
  
"He was like a father to me!" Claire screams at him. "He took me in when no one else gave a damn, and this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't—if _he_ hadn't—" she starts choking on her sobs, coughing violently when she tries to shout. Humiliated, Claire tries breathing, just like one of her more useful school counselors advised: in and out, counting from one to ten, repeat. Castiel's eyes swivel to look at her, not minding the road, and Claire viciously hopes that a car slams into them and kills them both.  
  
"It's not the fault of Dean—"  
  
"Really? Really? What, was he possessed by the same thing that took my mother say from me?" Claire demands. "My mother was fucking traumatized, and you just...just left her there! You and your boy toys!"  
  
"I can't apologize enough—"  
  
"No, you can't!" She's vicious in her anger, and loves it, loves seeing the angel's voice crack in pain—but when Claire looks into the mirror, when she sees the blue eyes slightly moistening, she stops. Claire's never seen her father cry, and it's almost fascinating to see, but now she's furious, furious that it's Castiel, robbing her of another thing of her father away. "You can't," she repeats. "Because what you did to me, my mom, my dad, is unforgivable."  
  
"I know. I know, and I'm so sorry, Claire. You had to see and go through unspeakable things—"  
  
Her belly twists. Blood on the floor, blood on the ground, blood all over Dean Winchester, kneeling on the ground like some sort of sacrificial saint. The men he killed—Randy—and that disgusting man who tried to...tried to...  
  
"Claire? Claire, should I pull over?"

“I’m fine!” she gasps, digging nails into her palms. The pain helps her focus, resharpens her emotions into anger, better than the mess she’s becoming. Her mind goes back to Dean, and she zeroes in on that, reminding herself that the man who fought desperately to save her father years ago is not him. Hell, Dean didn’t even want to have James “Jimmy” Novak—he was trying to get _Castiel_ back. Her mother had said on one of her bad nights that the worst part of it all was when Castiel possessed Dad’s body again, how he passed her without so much as a backwards glance, and how _cold_ she herself felt, like a chilled wind that stripped away all warmth. Claire knew that her mom and dad occasionally fought—but over minute details—grocery shopping, making dinner, bills. The biggest fight she’d ever seen was over Dad not taking his pills—which, of course, she’d realized later that Castiel had been conspiring to take her father from the beginning.

Claire remembers shaking on the ground, energy still bubbling in her head and on the tips of her fingers. She remembers being filled with righteous anger, feeling so powerful in such a small body, no longer shivering in that chair. But all that knowledge and light and song—it kept her up most nights, thinking of how the world was so terrible, yet there were angels and God and miracles. It still confuses her: on one hand, Dad spoke of God as powerful, yet all-loving—like a parent—yet all Claire experienced since that night was fear, doubt, and loss of control.  She still prayed, out of both habit and desperation, but no one heard her.

Until, apparently, years too late.  
  
“I was I had come sooner, before all of that happened,” Castiel is still speaking, and Claire's about to say something like _stop the presses,_ but something commands her attention: “Dean’s been struggling with the Mark—“

 _What?_ “A mark? What mark?”

Castiel hesitates.

“Tell me,” Claire demands. “I deserve to know what happened back there.”

“It’s the…Mark of Cain.”

 _“What?”_ Claire actually exclaims this time. “Like, Cain and Abel? _My punishment is more than I can bear?_ How did he—did he meet _God?_ ”

 “No.” Castiel’s voice seems regretful, with a sharp slice of anger. “No, Dean did not meet God. Quite the opposite.”

“He met the _Devil?_ ” Claire thought nothing could surprise her after this, but there you go. “But he’s not—I mean—“ _Dad told me that people find it easier to believe in the Devil than God,_ she was going to say, but stopped. Why should she give Castiel anything else? Besides, it’s likely that he knew this stuff too, being all-knowing—but lacking common sense.

“That’s a different story. He met Cain, and out of a misguided notion of wanting to save the world, he took on the Mark.” Castiel actually sounds bitter, like how one of her mom’s friends used to complain how her husband wouldn’t do the laundry, take out the trash, or spend more time with her, but more so. Disappointment, maybe?

“That was a dumbass thing to do,” Claire says. “So, what? I don’t remember the punishment being a raging homicidal maniac. It was…loneliness. Wandering alone, and—“ Her throat swells, and she makes herself stop.

“It’s…complicated. That’s his curse, and it’s not the first time he’s—to put it in his terms—gone off the rails. He died, and became…a demon—“

“That’s all I need to know,” Claire interrupts. “So, what? He’s a demon now?”

“Well, Sam and I cured him, but it was a temporary measure. My Grace—I mean, my angelic power—“

“I know, Castiel, you possessed me, _remember_?”

“Yes. I remember, forgive me.”

 _Fat chance of that._ “Right, so…Dean’s not a demon yet? He will be? Is…what he did going to…”

“I don’t know. I promised him that I'd kill him if he snapped, but—"  
  
"You did?" Claire's startled to hear the breathless vengeance in her voice. Her father had often told her that forgiveness was hard, but could be gained by looking at the other person's point of view, but he couldn't have expected this, not at all. She misses her father. She misses the gentle smiles over dinner, the fond tousles of her hair, and the warm hugs the first thing back from work. The...thing in the front seat isn't him, not anymore.

 _You tried to replace your father with Randy, though,_ something hisses, but Claire shuts it down. No. No.

"You'll kill him?" she repeats. "You promised him that? It's what he wants?"  
  
Castiel's hands tighten on the wheel. "It's what he wants."  
  
"Good," Claire wants to laugh, but instead, a hysterical little gasp escapes her instead. "Good."

_Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I was praying for._

* * *

When they get there, Claire lets Castiel open the door for her and lead her into the main room. The whole place is _huge,_ and under different circumstances, Claire would have asked to take a tour. But the sight of Dean reminds her of what Castiel said, and his promise. The Winchesters have beaten them there.

Dean has showered, damp hair plastered to his head and dressed in sweats and a hoodie. He looks almost vulnerable, swaddled in the bulky clothes, and Claire hates him for that. His brother keeps glancing at Dean as if he’s a ticking bomb, which Claire now knows that he is.

“I’m going to bed, Cas,” Dean says, voice low. “If you want, you can leave, and we’ll put up Claire—“

“I’m not staying alone with you.” Claire crosses her arms, and lets her eyes wander to the open kitchen, cozy but open. Her eyes linger on some steak knives, and imagines stabbing one right through Dean’s heart. She's never done anything like that. Would it be hard?

“So, I’ll stay, of course,” Castiel sighs, and Claire notices him eyeing Dean, carefully. “I’ll watch over her.”

 _Like you have over these past years?_ Before Claire can say anything, Castiel steps forward and takes Dean by the arm. "We need to talk. Alone." He gives Dean a significant glance, a quick jab of his chin, and the other man nods.  
  
_He's going to kill him_ , Claire thinks, with a hyper sense of glee and dread. _He's going to kill him._

She glances at Sam, to see what he has to say, but the man simply nods, relief in his features as Dean reluctantly begins to leave the room. “Maybe you can talk to him, Cas, I’m sure he didn’t mean to…you know.” His voice lowers, but Cliare hears every word. “Is he—is _it_ —back?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admits. “I don’t know, and if it is—“

“I tested him—the salt and holy water—and it didn’t affect him, but I just don’t know if…”

“Sam—"

“What should I do? Prepare the dungeon?”

_They have a what?_

Castiel shakes his head. “No, not yet. I’ll try to talk to him, but he doesn’t seem receptive to me these days.”

“He’s an idiot.” Finally, something she and this abnormally tall person can agree on something. “You know him.”

Castiel nods, slowly. There seems to be something familiar in his eyes that Claire can’t place. He follows Dean into the hallway, and Claire’s about to follow, but is stopped by Sam’s cough from behind.

“So,” Sam shuffles his feet awkwardly. “You can, uh, pick any room you want. As long as it’s not taken, and in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast. Is that okay?”

Claire forces herself to bob her head. “Down the hall, right?”

“Yes,” Sam replies, obviously relieved that she isn’t snapping at him. “There’s plenty to choose from, on both sides, and the bathroom’s at the end of the hallway. The showers are—uh, communal, but no one will—“

Cringing, Claire shoves her way past him. “Thanks.” She doesn’t want to be reminded about that man who tried to touch her. In that terrible moment, Claire had thought, _I’d kill him if I have to—_ and felt no remorse. Maybe it started when Randy put the gun in her hand and told her to off some stranger, or maybe it started earlier, when Castiel possessed her. The rage, the coldness, the quick efficiency—that might have stayed with her, changed her, somehow.

Regardless, she will _never_ let herself be powerless again. Never again.

She now listens closely for voices, discovering a door right around the corner. When Claire opens it a sliver, wind hits the tip of her nose.  _A backyard? Really?_  Ducking behind it, Claire stays still and listens, holding her breath.

“…I had to, Cas, they were going to hurt her—“

“You didn’t care about that, Dean.”

“How could you say that?”

“Earlier, you dismissed my fears when I came to you. You said it wasn’t a real emergency—“

“She ran away from you!”

“Claire is barely eighteen! Do you honestly think she can survive on the streets on her own?”

“You did!”

“I nearly _died,_ Dean! I thought I could get to you, I always do, but you have no idea what it’s like out there! I’m lucky that I finally, finally managed to get to the bunker before I died of pneumonia or angels or had to prostitute myself! That’s how bad it got, and you—“ Castiel cuts himself off, but Claire, toeing open the door ever so slightly, sees that Dean is hanging his head, ashamed.

Dean’s tone is regretful: “I’m so sorry about that, Cas. I just…I wasn’t used to you not being…you know. An angel.”

Claire frowns, not understanding. Castiel was human? For how long? Is that why he didn’t answer her prayers?

“We’re getting off topic, Dean. You killed those men.”

“They were criminals, Cas—“

“What happened to knocking them out? Tying them up, phoning the police?”

“I warned them,” Dean protests, an edge of desperation creeping up into his voice. “I told them—“

“What, that you were going to kill them brutally because of a curse? Sam asked you if it was you or them. _Was_ it?”

Dean breathes, vapor escaping from his mouth. Claire knows what he’s going to say before he does: “No.”  

“Did you have options?”

“I was on the ground; he hit me with a beer bottle, kicked me—so I…I…I did it. I think I’m…back.”

Claire watches Castiel, wordlessly, shake his head.

Her lip curls. So, Dean _killed_ Randy out of his own free will? Not because he was in danger, or because the Mark overwhelmed him?

 _If he kills Dean,_ she thinks furiously, _I might forgive him._

She watches Castiel take a deep breath, clench his hands at his sides. _This is it,_ she thinks, _this is it._ Claire can imagine it happening: Castiel pulling out his silver blade, raising it, and sinking it into Dean’s chest. She imagines it being bloody, like at the house. She imagines Dean collapsing, on his knees, then falling flat on the ground. Would Castiel bury him, smite him, hide the body somewhere? What would Sam do to Castiel, then?

Dean bows his head.

Castiel strides forward.

_Do it. Do it._

The angel places one hand on Dean’s shoulder. _Maybe it’s to pull him closer, to stab him in the back. Or break his neck?_ Her second foster home had a brother obsessed with all the methods you could use in a fight, and taught some of them to Claire before she had to move again, on account of using said moves on someone who was aggressively harassing one of her friends at school. _What was I supposed to do, then?_ she'd thought, back in her handler's car again. _Be helpless again?_

Claire then hears it, loud and clear: "Dean Winchester, I won’t do what you asked of me.”

Her heart stops. _What?_

“Cas—“

“You know better than to ask me that. I raised you from Perdition, and—“

“But you promised! I don’t want to be that—that monster again, you told me that you’d do anything I wished, and this is it!”

“That’s the one thing I can never do! I never should have promised you!” Castiel roars, so loud that Claire’s ears sting. “Remember what Naomi ordered me to do, Dean? Remember what I said in the crypt?”

Dean’s now trying to back away, but Castiel’s grip holds him fast.

“What broke the connection, Dean?” Castiel demands.

Dean lowers his head again, neck exposed. “Me,” he almost whispers.

“You,” Castiel responds, and Claire thinks, _no, no, no,_ before he pulls Dean in and wraps his arms around him, kissing him on the mouth. Dean, after a moment’s hesitation, embraces Castiel back and pushes back against his mouth. Even though Castiel’s eyes are closed, she finally pieces together the look in them minutes ago. It’s the same way—almost the same way—her dad used to look at her mom.  
  
"How _could_ you?"  
  
They both leap apart, Castiel looking horrified. "Claire," he starts to say, but Claire's backing away, shaking her head.  
  
"Don't you dare come after me, Castiel!" she snarls, holding up her right palm. "I still remember some tricks when you possessed me, and that includes the angel banishing sigil. Want me to test it out?"

Castiel stays in the yard, stock-still, and Claire runs, down the hallway, to the front door. Dean catches her, grabs her by the arm, and Claire whirls, and in one motion, strikes him with her elbow. He doubles over, gasping in surprise and pain— _good_ —but doesn’t drop his grip.  
  
"Claire," Dean begs her. "Don't tell Sam, please don't tell Sam."  
  
"Why would I care?" she spits. "I'm leaving this godforsaken place! Why would I want to tell your stupid brother that you're fucking what used to be my father?"  
  
Her father would be appalled at her language, and her mother would have taken her aside, but what does it matter anymore? What does it matter? There is no love or faith or miracles. There's just hate and broken promises and blood.  
  
Claire finally breaks herself from Dean’s hold, storming past a startled Sam, and slams the door on her way out. She still has her phone, and now dials to check the bus schedules. Making herself speed up to an empty bus stop, Claire can still hear soft cries from behind, including Castiel’s frantic voice. Thankfully, the bus pulls up just when Claire can hear frantic footsteps, and she practically throws herself in, shoves the change into the machine, and plops down right behind the bus driver.  
  
Collapsing in a sob in another vehicle, Claire prays.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after 10.09, and also in a universe where Castiel and Dean got together at the end of Season Eight, as well as Castiel not having sex with April (though he did almost die, and Dean still took on the Mark of Cain). Obviously, since Dean and Cas are in a relationship, there was no Hannah/Cas drama or Dean picking up a prostitute ("Girls, Girls, Girls"). 
> 
> During the episode, Claire had almost been sexually assaulted by one of Randy's "friends," and Claire's aftermath feelings are addressed. Claire also has mildly (?) disturbing thoughts about killing Dean. (Understandably so)


End file.
